


What Can Make Me Feel This Way?

by superbaturalross



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Smut, Happy Valentine's Day!, True Love, episode 300 spoilers, smutty fluff, timestamp for 14x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 09:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superbaturalross/pseuds/superbaturalross
Summary: It's been three decades, and yet they still fit together like two puzzle pieces. A little more worn, a little ragged, but still complete each other.





	What Can Make Me Feel This Way?

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! This is my fill for the SPN Kink Bingo Challenge for the domestic square. 
> 
> A couple of things:  
> A warm thank you to Fox, without whom this story wouldn't be nearly as readable as it is. 
> 
> Secondly, this is by no means excusing or forgiving any of John's actions while he was raising Sam and Dean. I believe John is a deeply flawed complex character who was dealt an impossible hand and did the best he could (though that came up far short of what was required). 
> 
> Thirdly, John and Mary do love each other, so I hope you enjoy this little interlude :)

They’re together again. A little broken, a little older, but together. There’s grey in his beard and, his once thick hair is shorn down to the scalp. But his eyes still glitter with the same love that was there on their wedding day. Of course, as aged as he is, she’s still perfection incarnate. John’s aware that he’s idealized her, and yet somehow, Mary’s just as beautiful as the picture he has in his mind. 

Holding her in his arms, it’s like a drug he can’t get enough of, kissing down the column of her neck, his gun calloused hand tracing over the porcelain white curves of her body. His hand traces over the tattoo on her side, eliciting small gasps that are music to his ears. They’ve always been so in tune with each other. 

“Mary,” he whispers, the name a prayer leaving his lips as he kisses down to the swell of her breast, his thumb glancing over her nipple. His warm breath fans over her skin before he closes his lips around the hardening bud. 

Her hands snake around to the back of his head until the only words on her lips are, “John.” And it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. And it’s like they’ve never been apart. They’ve existed together on this plane of reality and nothing’s torn them from each other. This is the way they were meant to be, if fate hadn’t had other things in the plans for them. 

He presses kisses down her body, her stomach, his cheek resting on her hip as he hungrily gazes upon her. Still beautiful, even if it’s sagged with age. He’s sure his own isn’t much to look at. But it doesn’t matter. They’re soulmates, joined forever. Body and mind. Hearts and soul. 

“My girl,” he says, tears streaming down his face as he looks up at her and she’s got her own tracks down her cheeks. He surges up to kiss her again, kiss the offending marks, because tears don’t belong on that face. 

“John,” she responds, and it’s in their names that the entire conversation lies. He loves her so much. 

Groaning, he pulls her leg around his hips, his fingertips pressing into her thigh, and he lines up to her entrance, pushing in in one swift move, crying out as he’s pressed in all the way to the hilt, her body opening its way for him. 

She cries out and her voice travels down to his length, his erection throbbing as he’s seated in her. He presses kisses to her neck, his hands grazing at her hips, trailing up her sides, as if he can’t get enough of her. 

And he can’t. Even an eternity is not enough to be in her arms. 

“God Mary, you’re--you’re so perfect, I--” he groans, kissing her again, beginning to move, grip firm but gentle. 

“John I--” she mumbles, her voice high as she rocks her hips into his thrusts. “I need.”

“What do you need?” John asks, willing to move Heaven and Hell, the Earth and Sky. “I’ll give you the world.” 

“You,” she responds. 

“You have me.” He pushes in again, hips stilling as he spills into her. He doesn’t have the virility of a twenty five year old man anymore. 

His hand slips between the two of them, rubbing circles into her clit his mouth finding her breast again, tongue swirling around her nipple. 

She comes from his hand and he pulls out of her, groaning as he practically collapses on her, head resting on her breast, arms snaking around her waist. He chuckles, his laugh a deep rumble as he traces circles onto her stomach. 

“You’re alive,” he says, wonder in his voice. “It’s--we’re a family,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Mary answers, her fingertips brushing through his hair. 

And although John feels a bone deep contentment, there’s a lingering guilt. Who he became after she died. Who he regressed back to; a military man, his sons’ drill sergeant. They’re still soldiers fighting monsters, no family to speak of, no children, and an emotional co-dependency he should have seen coming. 

But now they have Mary, the one that they always should have had, the one who could have helped them navigate their life. Perhaps Sam would have married Jess and been a lawyer. Dean would have gone on to mechanical engineering, he’d always had the mind for it. Met someone. John always liked Cassie. 

“I failed,” John finally says. It’s not said with any self loathing--a matter of fact really. “They never got to be boys. Dean had--Dean at least had those four years. Sammy’s--” He stops, his voice choking up. “And when he wanted a normal life I--” 

Mary begins massaging his neck, the juncture that always tended to get knotted up--especially when he’d remember his tour of Vietnam. He'd often wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. Quietly sneaking out of bed to sleep with the television on in the den. 

John was a damaged man before the monsters. He’d seen the horrors of humanity, and sentenced his children to a lifetime of hurt. 

“I failed you Mary,” he says, his voice breaking. 

Mary doesn’t respond. And that’s an answer in and of itself. But she doesn’t let go of him. John can’t bring himself to look up at her, doesn’t want his memories of her to be tainted by the inevitable look of disgust. 

But he can’t deny her when she tilts his chin up, her eyes meeting his. And there’s no judgement--no ill will. It’s pensive and thoughtful. 

“John--I,” she begins, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I’m the one who made the demon deal. I’m--I should have told you about what I grew up doing. Mistakes were made, but I left you with an impossible situation, and--I’m sorry John.” 

And how dare she put any of this on herself, John thinks as he surges up to kiss her, his hand tangling in her hair. He pulls back, letting their foreheads rest against each other’s and he smiles gently.

“Besides. Have you seen our boys?” Mary asks, her lips turning up in a small smile. 

John’s smile widens. “They’re perfect,” he says. 

“They save the world,” Mary responds. “So many times. And--” She glows with maternal pride. “And they take care of each other.” 

He nods, smiling. “I’m so proud of them Mary.” He presses a kiss to her temple, holding her when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Mom? Dad?” Dean’s gruff voice carries into the room. 

John laughs into Mary’s neck, pressing a kiss into her shoulder. “Some things never change,” he says, the image of a young boy bouncing into their bedroom thirty six years ago bright in his mind. 

She laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of John’s head. “Yeah Dean?” 

“Got the stuff for dinner.” 

“Oh my god Dean, give them like a few minutes,” Sam says, behind him. 

“What?” Dean asks,   
“We’ll be right out boys.” Mary responds, laughing. 

John sits up, stretching, his bones popping and creaking as they settle into place. 

It’s about three decades too late. But it’s family. 

And nothing’s more important. 


End file.
